The Abandon Series | Book 3 | These Times of Cessation Read online

  She turned on the radio, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel to Green Day playing, then felt herself trying to relax. She told herself everything would be okay. Resting a hand on her belly, she wanted Rose to know she was thinking of her.

  About two miles from home on I-270 in moderate traffic, she hit her turn signal, then slowed to take the Grove City exit. That’s when the radio shut off and her car died. It didn’t run out of gas, or sputter to a stop. Everything just went kaput and she found herself coasting toward the guardrail.

  “No, no, no!” she cried.

  The power-steering froze, causing the wheel to go sluggish in her hands. She stepped on the brakes but not quick enough to avoid hitting the guardrail. The harsh grinding of the front fender, as well as the side of the car, grated her nerves. She’d never wrecked a car before, but if there was ever a bad time to do it, it was today.

  When she came to a dead stop, her fears began to spiral out of control.

  Chapter Two

  Constanza Navarro

  Freaking out, convinced she’d run out of gas, or broke the car battery, Constanza took a deep breath in time to get whiplash from being slammed into by another car.

  The extra back pain set in right about the time her contractions spiked. She’d been lightly sweating earlier; now she felt her body perspiring like she’d made a trip to the sun.

  And her neck…

  Minutes later, a soft tapping on her window startled her. She slowly turned and saw a rotund man with a smattering of skin tags all over his neck and thin hair that needed washing. He wore wire-framed Jeffrey Dahmer glasses and had meaty forearms with thick sausage fingers. Standing there looking right at her, this creature was the ever-growing picture of discomfort. Apparently, he hadn’t made it out of the accident unscathed either.

  Still, she didn’t like him being there, but she couldn’t roll down the window either. Cautiously, she opened the door, then pushed it his way, forcing him to stand back and give her space.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, looking apologetic. “My car just stopped, which is why it ran into yours.”

  The buttons on his long-sleeve, button-up dress shirt were definitely straining. Sadly, he was sweating, too. Good God, he looked more pregnant than she did!

  “Yeah, my car died, too,” she said with a smile propped up on willpower alone. The cramps were unrelenting, her guts being twisted into a fist, squeezing…

  “I was going to call for help,” he said, showing her his cell phone, “but that died, too.”

  She looked at her cell phone, tried to turn it on. All she got was an unresponsive black screen. Massaging her neck, she said, “I had a full charge, but I think I’m having issues with mine as well.”

  She looked up at the sun thinking she’d heard something about solar activity, a solar storm maybe. Then again, that might have been a movie she had watched recently. Lately, she wasn’t sure of anything but her own name and her desire to get Rose out of her belly and into the real world.

  “Was it maybe a mass coronal ejection?” she asked.

  “That might interrupt the communications on the cell phones, but it wouldn’t just wipe out an entire car,” he said. “You look like you’re hurting.”

  “I am.”

  She glanced around the roads and saw other cars had stopped, too. The truly odd thing was that nothing else moved. It was as if someone flipped a switch and all the cars just died at once.

  Fresh waves of nausea swept through her.

  She felt herself folding inward to the point of extreme discomfort. Rose was shifting, a slight kick or two. But her pain was off the charts. It wasn’t just her lower back that hurt, or the pressure on her bladder—which was now returning—it was something infinitely worse. The pain was radiating down through the tops of her thighs, making it hard to keep her expressions neutral. It was so excruciating, she was afraid she might puke at any minute.

  “What can I do to help you?” the man asked, concern deepening in his eyes.

  A slight gust teased his comb-over, pulling a few strands straight up, and then causing them to dance a bit in the breeze. One strand of hair must have been twelve inches long, just standing in the wind like an overgrown blade of grass.

  She almost couldn’t look at it without laughing. Laughing, however, was bound to make her pee. And once those flood gates opened, it would be game-over for her pants, as well as the seat in her car. Then again, she was having all sorts of pressure down there, which was why she couldn’t seem to find the right position, and she couldn’t seem to sit still.

  Maybe these weren’t cramps, or an overactive bladder. Maybe these were the Braxton Hicks signs of impending diarrhea. A Dr. Francis Green version of the practice squirts.

  “Please go away,” she said to the man. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve got…a condition, or something.”

  He didn’t listen. He just stood there, concerned. She pulled the door shut and tried to lock it. The power locks didn’t work. He was still standing there, still looking at her.

  “Please don’t look at me,” she said politely through the glass.

  He threw up his hands, went back to his car, then made a show of trying to fiddle with a few things.

  Glancing around the highway, car doors everywhere were opening and people were getting out and talking to each other. By the looks of things, they were trying to get to the bottom of this mystery, everyone wanting everyone else to be the next Perry Mason of the moment.

  The last thing she needed was to have to be polite to strangers when what she wanted most was to tear her own face off and throw it at the next person to speak to her.

  Letting out another tortured moan, folding forward again, she felt like her shins were going to split open. The pressure in her bladder was back with a vengeance.

  “My God, child,” she said, her features drawn together in pain.

  Constanza sat up, inhaled as deeply as she could, then she let her breath out in a slow, measured release.

  “You got this,” she said.

  She waited as long as she could, but her bladder was about to unleash the Colorado River. By then, half the people had started walking down the highway, while the other half just sort of hung out, waiting for emergency services or a functioning car to come by and give them a ride.

  “No one is coming for you,” she screamed. Then: “Just go, already.”

  Knowing she couldn’t squat and pee in public, but desperately needing to go anyway, she pushed the door open while trying not to draw the attention of the corpulent gentleman still sitting in the car behind her.

  She quietly cursed him for not leaving, then she pulled herself to her feet and waddled around the front of the car. She couldn’t believe she was doing this, but she had no other choice.

  “Desperate times breed desperate measures,” she said to herself.

  Dropping into a squat and leaning against the car’s front grill, she spread her legs and let go of her bladder. The urine gushed out of her like a firehose, draining through the fabric of her tan-colored pants.

  Throwing her head back, ignoring the consequences of peeing herself, she sighed out loud thinking it felt soooo good.

  “Are you alright?” the voice beside her asked, scaring her. It was the comb-over guy again.

  “Oh, dear God,” she said. “Can’t a lady have some privacy?”

  “If I’d have known you were pissing your pants, I would have announced myself.”

  “I’m sorry I forgot to give you the head’s-up on my urinary schedule. Don’t worry, though. I’m quite alright.”

  “You say you’re alright, but I don’t think you are.”

  “Someone get Einstein a consolation prize,” she said in her best game-show-host voice. At this point, the sarcasm was nearly out of control. “Look, I appreciate your concern and all, but when things are falling apart—as they clearly are for me right now—I prefer that they fall apart in private. Seriously, I’ll be just fine.”

&
nbsp; “You’re pregnant.”

  Still squatting, still peeing, she said, “Wait, what? When did this happen?”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “I’m not pregnant,” she said with a frown.

  “That ain’t a fat belly,” he said, still overly serious. “There’s a baby in there.”

  “Oh, for the love of Jesus.”

  “I’m going to call for help,” he said.

  “When you’re done with that, can you order me a cheeseburger and a chocolate shake?”

  He stopped, then remembered the phones didn’t work. “Well, I don’t know what to say,” he said looking embarrassed, and perhaps a bit frustrated.

  The last of the pee was puddling on the ground, her pants thoroughly soaked. She wanted to stand up straight, but she quickly realized that her body was now frozen in that position. She closed her eyes, silently unleashed a torrent of curses, then forced a smile and returned to the world and the nightmare unfolding.

  “Maybe before you leave, you could lift me up?” she asked, sweet as pie. “I seem to have gotten stuck in this position.”

  “I think I can do that,” he said, looking at the urine pond that had formed between her feet.

  “Don’t rub up against my tits when you lift me up or I’ll scream rape.”

  He startled at this, which gave her pause. No matter how badly she wanted to, Constanza could not run him off or she might never stand up on her own. She’d just fall into her Colorado River, and end up smelling like a homeless person.

  “I’m only half serious about the tits part,” she said. “Sorry for being so rude.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not used to a woman talking this way.”

  “This isn’t the ‘50’s, pops. We’ve been liberated. But if it helps, I’m glad you’re here, and that you’re so polite. I wouldn’t know what to do if you were a jerk.”

  “Are you still with the man who made that?” he asked, pointing to her belly.

  “I am.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll help you up.”

  He made a show of keeping away from her side-boobs, then lifted her up while managing to only halfway stand in her pee.

  “You’re a true gentleman,” she said.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked, looking at the dark stains running the length of the insides of her thighs.

  “Baby powder and a diaper change?” she joked, pushing loose strands of hair out of her face.

  “You’re an interesting woman,” he replied without a smile. “It’s a little off-putting.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be. It’s just, I’m thirty-two weeks pregnant with a sarcasm affliction that’s currently flaring. If it’s any consolation, I don’t even like myself right now.”

  “Well, I’m going to walk to town, if you want to come.”

  “I’ll be okay,” she said. “But thanks.”

  She was having contractions again, her body suffering massive turmoil. Forcing a smile, but hurting inside, she dug an old towel out of the back seat, then stopped when she saw her trunk lid. It was dented where the Good Samaritan had rear-ended her. She didn’t mean to, but she saw this and groaned aloud. This was honestly the last thing she needed.

  “It’s bad, I know,” the man said, gathering what things he could carry. “But my insurance coverage is ample and I’m on autopay, so you don’t have to worry about me.”

  “I think we have bigger problems than whether or not your insurance is ample.”

  He walked by her, made a wide berth, then said, “Good luck to you.”

  “To you as well,” she said. “And thank you again.”

  She laid the towel over the front seat, lowered herself inside, then checked her phone every so often in the hopes of getting a signal.

  “This is ridiculous,” she heard herself say.

  Everyone was leaving their cars, making the trek to safety, or home, or whatever. She waited as long as she could, and then, when everyone she could see had abandoned their cars, she decided it was her turn to leave.

  It was getting late in the day, the sun was going down, and she wasn’t keen on walking two miles in the dark to get home. But if she could do it alone, without someone asking a bajillion invasive questions, then that was all the better.

  The first few steps were fine, but then she realized she was going to have problems with this whole “walking” thing. She had almost reached the end of the off-ramp when she saw the traffic lights weren’t working. This, as well as the darkness spreading across the land, gave her cause for concern. Across the intersection, she saw the familiar Turkey Hill gas station. Like the traffic lights, there were no lights, no power. Was anyone even there? Cars were in the parking lot, but there were also cars stopped all along the streets.

  That’s when the contractions hit her too hard. She sat down on the asphalt and tried not to cry. A wayward tear broke loose.

  “Traitor,” she said, wiping it away.

  Sitting in the middle of the road with the sun going down, she audibly lamented her legs that didn’t want to work, her pissed-in pants, and a mad, almost ravenous hunger, for peaches and peanut butter.

  “Dammit!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. Wiping at eyes that continued to leak, she cursed again, but this time to herself.

  The sun was setting fast, the temperature dropping even farther. She held herself, felt the urine in her pants cooling. An eerie feeling swept over her. Dusk’s long shadows were getting longer, colder, and more haunting. She just wanted to be home, in her bed next to Rowan where they could dream about their future as a family.

  Just off the side of the freeway off-ramp, not thirty yards away, was a long grove of trees that stretched back a few hundred yards from where she’d just come. In front of the trees, the borders of off-ramp grass had fallen to neglect. The grass was long and unkempt, like an un-brushed head of hair. How many times had she driven this route and not noticed? Then again, with Covid fears and the onset of the Hayseed Rebellion, entire swaths of the nation had been plagued by disrepair.

  She thought she saw something in the trees. Blinking twice, squinting, she wondered if her eyes were playing tricks on her. For a second, she was sure she saw someone looking back at her.

  This freaked her out plenty, enough for her to try to get up. The second she stood, however, her body went into full revolt, and that’s when she felt the rush of warmth filling her pants again. Except this time it wasn’t urine. Did her amniotic sac just rupture? Oh, dear Lord, did her water just break?

  She sat back down on the ground and somehow managed to hold off the inevitable rush of tears. Right then, everything the soulless Dr. Green had said to her about an early delivery came rushing back. She had wanted Constanza to take antibiotics to stave off any potential infections, an injection of corticosteroids to help the child’s lungs develop, magnesium sulfate to protect the baby’s nervous system. She said that would help keep things normal into the ninth month. All that would have been just fine had she not wanted to have this child as naturally as possible.

  Sitting there, all alone with a baby on the way, she couldn’t help second guessing her decisions. She should have at least done some of those things, shouldn’t she?

  Rowan thought so, but she’d overridden him time and again. Her reasoning was sound in her mind. After all, they didn’t have all those fancy drugs and procedures in the caveman days, and the species not only survived, it thrived, right? To her, it all made sense.

  But the problem wasn’t natural versus managed childbirth, and this was where Rowan had been right to worry. Constanza had been born with a short cervix, which Dr. Green said was a serious issue when bringing her first child to term. Not that it mattered now. Whether she liked it or not, she was having this baby. To her horror, however, it looked like she wouldn’t be having it alone.

  A homeless woman walked out of the trees, approaching her cautiously. Constanza watched this woman the entire way, neither she nor
the stranger speaking to each other. From what she could see in the dying light, the woman had keen eyes and a fixed mouth.

  The closer she got, the more Constanza saw those eyes zeroed in on her belly. The woman’s mouth moved but said nothing. Paralyzed with fear, Constanza couldn’t find her voice, even as the woman ended up standing directly in front of her. Bathed in shadow, this stranger’s features were all but erased.

  “You’re having a baby,” she said. She was just a silhouette against the darkening skies, a sight that further intensified Constanza’s fears.

  “I think it’s just gas.”

  “No,” she said, kneeling down before her. She gave a slight sniff, then looked up to the left, sniffed again, and said, “You’re having a baby.”

  “I guess maybe my water just broke?” Constanza said, noncommittal. She could now smell the woman. When was the last time she showered? A week ago? A month? Months?

  “Let’s take down your pants and see what’s what.”

  “No,” Constanza said, offended. She tried to push herself back, but she didn’t have the strength. Besides, the woman would just walk her back, not letting her get up, let alone escape.

  “When that baby’s head pops out and hits the seam of your pants,” she said with the cigarette-and-coffee smell of bad breath, “it’s going to suffocate. Is that what you want? To kill your child mid-birth?”

  Constanza shook her head, biting back a whimper. Did she really have a choice at this point?

  “You need to take down your pants so I can pull this thing out. C’mon, quit being so stubborn.”

  “I don’t know,” Constanza said.

  “I’m not asking, girl,” the woman said, unyielding. “I’m going to save your kid’s life one way or another.”

  Chapter Three